Nightmare
by Yanagi-wa
Summary: This is the nightmare Ranma talks about in Shades of Home. It made the chapter too long and didn't add to the story that much. I have had requests for it so it is posted here as a one shot. It's kind of dark and wierd.


Nightmare  
  
I don't own Ranma  
  
This is the nightmare Ranma tells the strike team in my fic. Shades of Home. It made the chapter too  
  
long and didn't add anything to the story but I wrote it and some people wanted it so here it is.  
  
It is rated R. If you don't like mentions of rape; don't read this. It's not graphic but some younger  
  
people may find it disturbing. Hints of Rape, Non-consensual sex between males, Pederasty. You have  
  
been warned. Don't flame me cause I'll just laugh at you.  
  
You want to hire me? OK, so first you want to know why I do what I do? Sure, no skin off my nose.  
  
I'll talk because I know you won't pass this on.  
  
Well, let's see; I'm not going into too much detail; it'd take a week.  
  
Suffice it to say that my Pop took me away from my Mother when I was just a baby. I haven't seen her  
  
since.  
  
He trained me in every martial art there is all jumbled up in my head and called Anything Goes.  
  
Control was very important. I needed control to fight like that; using everything I learned and found  
  
weapons. I could kill you with that toothpick if I need to.  
  
But the sad, bad; whatever, part of the whole thing is, Pop had no moral compass at all.  
  
He could talk a good fight if ya know what I mean but when push came to shove Pop always took the  
  
easy way out. Which meant I suffered.  
  
He took the best food and left me with rice and weak tea; he had a blanket, I shivered through the cold  
  
nights.  
  
What? Oh . . . no, he never touched me. He always said I was too ugly; he liked girls.  
  
But he sold me. I weeded gardens, hauled water, chopped wood; to this day I can't stand the smell of  
  
live chickens. Cleaning out a chicken coop at the hight of a hot summer day will do that to you.  
  
I 'broke' my hands building stone walls; mortar sucks all the water out of your skin; then it cracks and  
  
bleeds.  
  
All this before I was twelve or thirteen years old, all the time I was working like a slave; he was sitting  
  
around drinking and lounging in the shade or playing games with the nearest slob like him.  
  
I started hating him . . . I can't really remember exactly when; I remember I was cold, hungry, dirty  
  
and so tired I was staggering and that old fuck wanted to train.  
  
I ran away but I didn't get far. He chased me down and beat the shit out of me. I couldn't even stand  
  
by the time he got done. Then he called me a sissy. All I felt then was a cold fire in my belly, that's  
  
when I vowed some day I would be strong.  
  
Why didn't I just leave?  
  
Because by the time I was eight he had a PD on me I couldn't break.  
  
What's a PD? Psychological Dominance. He had me convinced that I couldn't beat him no matter how  
  
hard I tried. So I couldn't.  
  
That's why what happened on my 13th birthday happened at all.  
  
Pop got me up by kicking me in the ribs as usual. I didn't wake up easily at that age I needed more  
  
sleep than he let me get so I was always sleep deprived.  
  
After training me till I dropped, he told me to rest while he got me my present.  
  
I was thrilled. I'd never gotten a present before.   
  
He even brought me a cup of tea, strong tea. (I drink tea so strong now that most people can't stand it.)  
  
I put on the new clothes never suspecting what would happen next.   
  
They were a little strange; the top was just a vest and the baggy pants had an elastic waist. Pop always  
  
said elastic was for fairies. But I was happy; I thought Pop was finally changing  
  
But was I wrong!  
  
I'm skipping over most of the next stuff; I hate talking about it and you're looking green.  
  
Just say that by the time the sick fuck my dear Daddy sold me to got done with me there wasn't an inch  
  
of my back, buttocks or thighs that wasn't bruised and he fucked me dry  
  
Pop sold me and I hated him more and more.  
  
He trained me like a gladiator, worked me like a slave and pimped me out like a whore. So yeah, I'm a  
  
sick pup but the pup got teeth and Jusenkyo was the last straw.  
  
He took me to Jusenkyo springs to train. You don't need details. I fell into Spring of Drowned Girl and  
  
knocked him in Spring of Drowned Panda.  
  
I came out of the spring a girl and I'm really a looker; tits movie stars would pay a fortune for and  
  
everything else is just as knock out.  
  
Hey! I know what I look like; I've got a mirror.  
  
But, Pop? He had a fit! Swore like a trooper, started slapping me around which didn't involve much  
  
slapping and a lot of punching and kicking.  
  
Of course I tried to fight back but that PD was getting in my way.  
  
He called me a pitiful freak . . . How did we . . . Well there are some hot springs there too, cold  
  
water I'm a girl; hot, I'm a guy. Turned Pop to a man and so on. The guide pushed Pop into the hot  
  
spring and ran.  
  
Then I realized something; here was a man that turned into a panda calling me a freak; at least when I  
  
change I'm still human.  
  
The first punch I really blocked shook him up bad; he started whaling me like he always did; punching  
  
as fast as he could, which was pretty fast but I was over that PD in a big way  
  
We fought for a while . . . Huh? Oh, 'bout an hour . . . Na, I can keep it up for hours, early training. I  
  
hate that fuck but I'm really good because of him.  
  
So we fought. I got the upper hand and got him by the throat. I like to think in my better moments that I  
  
didn't mean what happened next but who'm I kidding.  
  
I ripped his throat out with my bare hands. It felt like heaven, my hands slick with his blood. I felt light.  
  
Like invisible chains had shattered leaving me free at last.  
  
I went nuts!  
  
I laughed for the first time in years; I cried; I screamed out all the agony he'd put me through.   
  
Then it happened. I changed.  
  
I didn't freeze inside like some do; I just realized that I'm wonderful. I'm the only one in the world that  
  
really counts and I do what I want because no one can stop me.  
  
How'd I get into this business precisely? It's a long story involving Amazons. If you really want that one  
  
ask my contact Cou Long; but I really wouldn't want to do that if I were you.  
  
I'm a talkative little shit; she's not. Worries too much.  
  
See, due to training and all that I've been through I'm Psycho. I trained all my life to be one thing and  
  
that's what I am.  
  
What's that?  
  
Scary! That's what.  
  
I'm 5'10" now; probably won't top 6' by much. But big men get out of my way. Here in Nerima even  
  
the cops walk wide around me.  
  
Tough guys cross the street; Moms grab their kids and everyone pays me respect and protection  
  
money.  
  
I'm the guy that scary guys are afraid of. I never had to make a lot of noise Cou Long put the word  
  
around among people who count.   
  
I don't get arrested because every government in the world uses me. The one time someone tried it  
  
they didn't live long enough to sign papers; every other government sent one of their second raters after  
  
him.  
  
I like to died laughing when they did the autopsy after they scraped what was left of him out of his car;  
  
he had three different poisons in him.  
  
It also helps that I'm not what they expect.  
  
I educated myself and I'm good. I know a lot about things that impress the high class idiots that hire  
  
me. I can talk about stock markets, plays, opera; anything like that. I keep up with everything by  
  
reading ten newspapers a day from all around the world.  
  
I'm brilliant. Oh, yeah I am, I've been tested. I may be a sociopath or whatever but I'm brilliant.  
  
Now I've told you my story and I don't need to hear yours. I don't give a shit why you want someone  
  
dead; it's probably even more pathetic that usual. You're rich and want to be richer but some one's in  
  
our way. Right?  
  
Ok. Yeah, I'll take your contract.  
  
Why? The point of my whole story is: I like killing. Pop taught me too well; all the sophistication in the  
  
world can't cover up the fact that I'm a stone cold killer. I love it you dumb fuck and why not get paid  
  
big money to do something I love.  
  
This turned out really weird. My only excuse is that a friend of mine got hurt falling off her tractor and a  
  
bunch of us got together to help out. Job jar time and I drew my most hated job.   
  
Yeah; you guessed it! Cleaning out a chicken coop. I hate chickens. I like chicken; fried, baked, any  
  
way except flapping, squawking, stinking, feather covered, live birds and I've got poison ivy as well;  
  
so, enough pity party.  
  
This fits in chapter22; there's a note there. 


End file.
